Stewart of Gondor
by Lexxie-Lizzie
Summary: Stewart has always been the black sheep of the family. Now he is off to find his flock.


Tee hee hee  
  
disclaimer: apart from stewart, i own nothing  
  
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The moon glistened in the damp blue sky. The moonlight shimmered on the dew of the leaves. The crickets chirped in the bushes. As the night was having its session of silent solace, a man stepped out onto a balcony. He was a mere willow of a man. He hadn't wasted away or become skeletal or too thin to be seen. He had simply led a life comprised of trying not to be noticed. He was good at it too. He had sufficient shoulders to hold his arms on. His chest seemed to fulfill its function. His legs were sturdy and held his weight quite efficiently. But there was something missing. Something that separated him from the others. It was not immediately recognisable, much like a lot about him. He was in the land of Gondor. A land of warrior-men, tough men, strong men, but he was none of those. He was what you might call, a bookish type. He did not enjoy hunting, instead he would like to sit on the balcony reading histories of men. Instead of gathering news from the nearby villages, he would prefer to lie in an open field and sketch the mountains. He did not fit in with the Gondorian standard of a man, and was therefore ignored to a large extent. His father had tried to impress on him the importance of becoming a man of strength, a man of fortitude and a man of Gondor.   
  
There was a little-known fact about him that made him different from the rest. Something that separated him from the others. For this was no ordinary misfit. He was a important misfit. He was the son of Denethor and brother of Boromir and Faramir. His name was Stewart, Stewart of Gondor.  
  
Our adventure begins in a dark room. It had been built as a bedroom for Stewart but had gradually changed to accomodate thousands of books, piles of intricate plans, cartographical tools, pencils, ink-wells, quills, biological samples, jars, numerous artistic panels and tapastries of old. This had worried his father. His first two sons were warriors, well, Boromir was. But in comparison, even Faramir was a noble defender of Gondor. Stewart was a disappointment to his father. So much so that most of the towns-people thought that there were only two sons. Denethor preferred it this way. And though Stewart did not say so, he preferred it too. He was recieving all the benefits of high rank without the penalties. Denethor had said that many rooms of the fortress were off-limits to Stewart because they were for men. Stwart did not mind because in those rooms stood paintings of war and death on every surface being glorified. Stewart preferred the small victories. In fact, he studied them. He had collected recounts of the not-so-famous battles of Middle Earth. He was probably the only Gondorian who even knew about The Shire. He was certainly the only one with pipe-weed. His father was scared of the weed. In fact, anythiongn that Stewart had discovered was feared by his father. And without his father's approval, nothng left the fortress. Including Stewart. But Stewart was content. He had a room, with all his collections. He had a view over the fields and a small garden to keep him occupied. He led a happy life. Until he read a book.   
  
It was a perfectly harmless book, but it spurred the imagination so much that the reader would feel the action, feel the terror, feel the emotion, and feel every aspect of the world portrayed. It was such a vivid book, that when stopping for food or a break, the reader would feel disorientated and a little disappointed at reality. It was this book that led Stewart to pursue his Father. The book was called "There and back again, a hobbit's tale, by Bilbo Baggins". Stewart had finished the book and yearned to meet this hobbit. Surely this hobbi would be an interesting person to meet. Someone who shared all of Stewart's fancies and interests. They could talk of history and adventure and poetry and nature. It all fascinated him. So much so, that after lunch that very day, Stewart approached his father.  
  
The hall was large and ominous, but Stewart had been there before. He learned long ago not to be intimidated by things larger than he. I mean, what good did worrying do for anyone? Stewart walked steadily down the hall from his room. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he crashes into his brother, Faramir.  
  
"Hello little brother! What are you doing out? Going for a stroll?"  
  
"No, I am going to see father"  
  
"What about? I hope it's not one of your hare-brained schemes."  
  
"No, it isn't. I am asking him permission to go travelling."  
  
"Travelling? You? Where do you want to go?"  
  
"The Shire"  
  
"Oh. that place. I've heard you talk of it many times, but why is it that I have heard it from you only? Are you even sure it exists? I mean a civilisation in the North, out in the open, yet undiscovered? That's hardly believable."  
  
"I myself am puzzled at life's little quirks, but according to my research, there is a land up north and it is inhabited"  
  
"By what, brother?"  
  
"Hobbits"  
  
"Wha..?"  
  
"Holbytla? Kuduk? Kud-Dukan?"  
  
"Can't say I've ever heard of them"  
  
"Did you ever pay attention when you were a child. We wereread storiesof small men who lived in holes in the ground. They led an agricultural life away from the world of men, and could..."  
  
"...disappear whenever one of the lerge-folk appeared. Yes, now i remember. But surely, you do not base your travels on a simple nursery tale?"  
  
"I base it on many documents. If you ever happen to be in the vicinity, have a look through the library, there are a couple of books on the topic there. But now, I must be off. Got to speak with father before he leaves."  
  
"Good luck little brother. Have fun with the little folk!"  
  
Stewart had dealt with his family's ignorance on many occassions, he tried to explain it to them simply, but it never worked. He went away feeling unfulfilled, but satisfied hat he knew something that they could not minutely understand. Trouble was that the person he was discussing with usually left witht he same feeling, that they knew something he didn't and could not make it clear to him. It was a complicated little world that he lived in, but he was going away, a holiday away from it all, a very long holiday,and he din't expect he should be coming back. In fact, he meant not to.   
  
Stewart made his way down the last corridors and came to the steps outside the hall. He motioned to the guards who opened the doors. Stewart strode into the hall.   
  
"Ah Father! I have something I wish to discuss with you!"  
  
"Who is it?"  
  
"It is me Father, Stewart."  
  
"Oh, you"  
  
"I would like to discuss a matter of myself with you"  
  
"What do you want? Money? You have plenty. Books? We have a library downstairs. Or is it a personal matter? Because I thought I already had that talk with you on your sixteenth birthday?"  
  
"It is a personal matter, but nothing to do with that. I seek your permission to go on an expedition."  
  
"A what?"  
  
"I wish to go travelling, Up north. I want to do some research."  
  
"How long will you be gone?"  
  
"Well, I don't know Father, It could be weeks, months or years, depending on what I find there.."  
  
"Well, are you coming back?"  
  
There was a long silence. Stewart had not expected his father to ask this. He had thought he could just leave and never come back, and leave without a stain upon the Gondorian Stewardship.   
  
"I do not expect to return Father. In fact i mean not to."  
  
"Very well, when do you plan to leave? Tomorrow, the day after?"  
  
Stewart had not expected this response. He had dealt with his father before but this had never happened. Stewart had had his doubts about his father's affection for him, but never did he think that his father cared so little that he would not flinch at sending his son away on a journey with no return. His conviction strengthened.  
  
"I shall leave today, I have my things packed and ready to go. Goodbye Father."  
  
"Goodbye"  
  
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How did you like that? I just had to write about Stewart. It was meant to be a comedy, and it may become so, but at the moment, i guess it is an angst. Oh well.  
  
Oh yes,and review. If you want to flame me, flame me constructively  
  
eg, You're story had a good concept but was not executed that well. The areas to improve on are grammar, caharcter development, etc  
  
NOT  
  
Ur StOrY Is AwFuL!!@@%@* Go EaT A lObSta @#@$^*( i HoPe YoU nEvEr haVe OfFsPrINg!#$^**(P%^# 


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